The Lion's Skin by Rafael Sabatini Read Free Book Online Page A

critical, detached spirit, was stupid rather than sensuous. He made his survey swiftly, and the result left him wondering.
    Meanwhile the earl was addressing his son, whose hand was being bandaged by Gaskell. There was little variety in his invective. "You villain!" he bawled at him. "You damned villain!" Then he
patted the girl's head. "You found the scoundrel out before you married him," said he. "I am glad on't; glad on't!"
    "'Tis such a reversing of the usual order of things that it calls for wonder," said Mr. Caryll.
    "Eh?" quoth his lordship. "Who the devil are you? One of his friends?"
    "Your lordship overwhelms me," said Mr. Caryll gravely, making a bow. He observed the bewilderment in Ostermore's eyes, and began to realize at that early stage of their acquaintance that to
speak ironically to the Earl of Ostermore was not to speak at all.
    It was Hortensia—a very tearful Hortensia now— who explained. "This gentleman saved me, my lord," she said.
    "Saved you?" quoth he dully. "How did he come to save you?"
    "He discovered the parson," she explained.
    The earl looked more and more bewildered. "Just so," said Mr. Caryll. "It was my privilege to discover that the parson is no parson."
    "The parson is no parson?" echoed his lordship, scowling more and more. "Then what the devil is the parson?"
    Hortensia freed herself from his protecting arms. "He is a villain," she said, "who was hired by my Lord Rotherby to come here and pretend to be a parson." Her eyes flamed, her cheeks were
scarlet. "God help me for a fool, my lord, to have put my faith in that man! Oh!" she choked. "The shame—the burning shame of it! I would I had a brother to punish him!"
    Lord Ostermore was crimson, too, with indignation. Mr. Caryll was relieved to see that he was capable of so much emotion. "Did I not warn you against him, Hortensia?" said he. "Could you not
have trusted that I knew him—I, his father, to my everlasting shame?" Then he swung upon Rotherby. "You dog!" he began, and there—being a man of little invention—words failed him,
and wrath alone remained, very intense, but entirely inarticulate.
    Rotherby moved forward till he reached the table, then stood leaning upon it, scowling at the company from under his black brows. "'Tis your lordship alone is to blame for this," he informed his
father, with a vain pretence at composure.
    "I am to blame!" gurgled his lordship, veins swelling at his brow. "I am to blame that you should have carried her off thus? And—by God!—had you meant to marry her honestly and
fittingly, I might find it in my heart to forgive you. But to practice such villainy! To attempt to put this foul trick upon the child!"
    Mr. Caryll thought for an instant of another child whose child he was, and a passion of angry mockery at the forgetfulness of age welled up from the bitter soul of him. Outwardly he remained a
very mirror for placidity.
    "Your lordship had threatened to disinherit me if I married her," said Rotherby.
    "'Twas to save her from you," Ostermore explained, entirely unnecessarily. "And you thought to—to——By God! sir, I marvel you have the courage to confront me. I marvel!"
    "Take me away, my lord," Hortensia begged him, touching his arm.
    "Aye, we were best away," said the earl, drawing her to him. Then he flung a hand out at Rotherby in a gesture of repudiation, of anathema. "But 'tis not the end on't for you, you knave! What I
threatened, I will perform. I'll disinherit you. Not a penny of mine shall come to you. Ye shall starve for aught I care; starve, and—and—the world be well rid of a villain.
I—I—disown you. Ye're no son of mine. I'll take oath ye're no son of mine!"
    Mr. Caryll thought that, on the contrary, Rotherby was very much his father's son, and he added to his observations upon human nature the reflection that sinners are oddly blessed with short
memories. He was entirely dispassionate again by now.
    As for Rotherby, he received his father's anger with a